


lay your head upon my pillow

by detectivemeer



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Background Relationships, Emotional Infidelity, Ensemble Cast, Friendship, Growing Up, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, M/M, Moving On, Non-Linear Narrative, Post Series, Sobriety, We Just Love Each Other, wedding crashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-11-02 00:31:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20560652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivemeer/pseuds/detectivemeer
Summary: “You should play,” Michael says, pausing his fingers, offering the instrument.Alex closes his eyes. “Not now. I like listening.”Michael swallows the thousand and one things he could respond with, strums a G chord, and starts a new song.





	lay your head upon my pillow

**Author's Note:**

> title from For the Good Times by Johnny Cash

In the quiet--and really, it is always quiet, between them--they let the cicadas melodize. Cars whisper miles away. It’s just cold, clean air, and the strong thrum of guitar.

They’re sixteen again. Alex laying in the bed of his truck, knees at the edge, feet dangling. Michael’s spilling over the bed, guitar cramping in his lap, humming quiet as the breeze to the song he picks out.

“You’re good,” says Alex. Michael’s mind races to ten different things he could respond with, but he stills his tongue. It feels too good, the comfort of the silence, the music, the calm and steady miracle of Alex’s rising chest. “I mean, I can tell you’re getting even better.”

“Bob Dylan eat your heart out.” Michael twists his neck to flash a grin.

God, it could really be a decade and a half ago, the way Alex smiles up at him. Dark all around, but here he is, again, Michael to the only lighthouse worth knowing, drawn in, again and again. That’s what gets him, that’s what steals his breath, each time--just looking at Alex is a time machine, not to a place but a feeling. To the first time he felt truly seen. _You can’t go home again,_ but around Alex, fuck, he isn’t so sure.

“You should play,” Michael says, pausing his fingers, offering the instrument.

Alex closes his eyes. “Not now. I like listening.”

Michael swallows the thousand and one things he could respond with, strums a G chord, and starts a new song.

-

Brunch at the Crashdown is less habit, more forced labor at this point. After everyone went and grew up, or some shit, it takes a shared calendar and Isobel’s terrifying precision at scheduling to get the group of them in one place at once. Still, they manage it at least once a month if not more, and this morning Rosa is watching the baby so Liz and Max can serve the mimosas and only a couple customers have rattled the doors, peering in to try and see movement. Michael lifts his water glass and tips his hat, grinning as the customer grumbles at the _Sunday is Family Day!_ sign.

Maria’s drizzling an epic proportion of syrup over her pancakes, and she doesn’t even look up to say, “Guerin stop judging me, when a literal human life starts growing inside your body you can tell me how to eat, but not until then.”

Michael lifts his hands in appeasement. Even growing up around Izzy, he’s never totally prepared for Maria’s freaky psychic stuff.

Isobel reaches over to rub Maria’s enormous round belly, her eyes all melted and sweet. “Babe, you want mine?” Before she’s finished asking, Maria’s spearing and stacking more pancakes onto her plate.

Liz watches her, a little wistful. “God, remember when I would only eat pickled herring? For like, weeks?”

Max chuckles, sidling up next to her, rubbing her shoulders. She leans back into him. “That was a dark period.” Liz gapes, torn between affront and charm.

To his left, Michael hears Kyle lean in to Alex, asking, “So have you set a date yet?”

Michael feels his neck prickle with heat, instantly. He’s focusing on everyone else crowded around the counter, Maria and Liz swapping pregnancy war stories, while Max tries to look brave and concerned and not at all the man who fainted in the delivery room, and Isobel painfully obviously is trying not to take notes, all nerves beneath her excitement. He doesn’t even glance behind him, but he doesn’t have to: he can feel Alex’s eyes on him.

Their voices are soft, but every part of him strains to hear each syllable.

“Yeah. September 30th.”

“Dude!” Kyle’s excitement hushes quickly, but the grin is evident in his voice. “Man, that’s great. Only a few months left!”

“Mmm, I guess six is a few.”

“You and D are still up for the cake tasting this Saturday right?”

“You know I asked you to be my best man, not plan my wedding, right?”

“Alex, buddy, what kind of best man doesn’t make sure that every moment of the most special day of your life is perfect?”

“I don’t know. I hear most of them just plan the bachelor party.”

“Are you telling me I took those calligraphy classes for nothing?”

“Yes. That is what I’m telling you.”

Kyle laughs and they start talking about connecting with the actual wedding planner, because now that the venue and date are on lock, Kyle can start working more closely with her, which, honestly just objectively _is_ weird, it’s weird how involved and excited and happy for Alex he is, it’s weird isn’t it? To be that happy for your best friend getting married? Michael takes a deep breath, stares at his plate, and tries not to let his hands shake.

-

“C’mon,” says Alex, grinning wide. “What’re you, afraid?”

It’s the same, it’s always the same. The same buttons he pushes, the same reactions Michael feels welling in him and yet: he can’t get sick of it. The rush, the joy breaking across his face like wind, like he’s speeding down the road with the top down--it’s still invigorating.

“You little shit,” drawls Michael, shaking his head a bit. Then, takes off in a dead sprint, Alex yelling after him through laughter. He flies off the edge of the cliff, arms pinwheeling. He draws his knees in tight and crashes into the water, the breath he held smacked out of him.

With a gasp, he surfaces, smile hurting it’s so big. A second later, water splashes him as Alex’s sleek dive cuts through the lake. Michael treads in a tight circle, watching the murky blue.

A sudden tug at his ankle and Alex is next to him, laughing so hard he can’t breathe.

“You _screamed_,” he says, delighted. It’s hard to tell, but he may actually be crying from laughter. “Like a baby, Guerin, oh my God.”

“I’m--I did not scream!” Michael splashes him. He may have let out a very quiet, extremely manly yelp.

“Did you think I was a wild New Mexico lake shark? Or the Loch Ness monster took a vacation?” Alex is having way too much fun with this, drifting back as Michael advances with more splashing.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret this.”

“Have to catch me first.” Dark brows glinting in the sunlight, Alex disappears under the water again, heading to the shore. Michael laughs brightly and gives chase.

Alex beats him pretty handily, but that’s all right. They lie shoulder to shoulder in the low tide, wet sand conforming under him, the hot press of Alex’s arm against him as they both gasp like fish out of water, catching their breath. His ribs hurt from the sprint, but he can’t stop smiling. They stay there a while, under hot sun, forgiving water rocking them gently. Each time Michael turns his head, Alex has his eyes closed, chin tipped to soak in sunshine across his cheeks, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths, the beauty of him almost painful, glistening with diamond droplets and the warmth of the day.

Eventually, Michael hauls himself up, and jogs the distance back up the path to the rock outcropping to retrieve Alex’s prosthetic and their backpack. When he returns, Alex has moved up higher on the beach, sunning in the dry sand, arms hugged around his knees. The expanse of his back, all that muscle and skin moving in rhythm, a song Michael’s hands ache to play.

Michael throws a towel at his head, sets the leg on a dry patch of rocks past the sand, and collapses next to Alex on the beach. They share a bottle of water, and then Michael helps Alex up, Alex bracing himself with his hands on Michael’s shoulders. They move to the rocks, where Alex can sit properly and dry off, reattach his prosthetic. It’s too much not enough at once. Michael’s arm wrapped around Alex’s bare waist, all that skin to skin, heat and lake water and the pressure of Alex allowing himself to be helped, leaning into Michael who drinks it up like a leech.

“This was good,” says Alex, eyes squinting as he stares past the water’s bright, sparkling horizon.

Michael’s throat closes up, thick with emotion. Alex pulls a shirt from the backpack and tugs it overhead. “So. The 30th, huh?” He knows he’s throwing a grenade into their nice day, can’t help himself. He knows the date, because they sent out the save the dates, and he didn’t get one, and that’s--

Alex doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away from the lake’s distant edge. “Yeah,” is all he says, for a long moment. “It’s coming up quick.”

“Yeah,” says Michael, like a real fuckin’ genius. “Are you… I mean, do you, um…” Michael swallows rough, stares down at Alex’s pinkie finger, the dirt under the nail, the minute space between its knuckle and the thin gold band around its neighbor. “You know I’m real fuckin’ happy for you, right?”

Alex looks at him, finally. “I know, Michael,” he says, his face carefully blank but his voice unbearably soft.

“Yeah, alright. Alright.” Michael stands, shoving wet towels into the pack. “Come on, Manes, it’s taco night at the Wild Pony.”

“Didn’t those make you sick last time?”

“I’m buying you beer and this is what you wanna bring up?”

Alex breaks a grin, bright and beautiful. “Lead on Macduff.”

-

The first time they meet it’s a Friday, Isobel is hosting at her home, and Michael is trying so fucking hard not to drink he thinks he might vomit or pass out or both. Of course Alex and his boyfriend--fuck, _fiancé_\--are the last to arrive. Honestly, it’s no small miracle Michael’s managed not to meet the guy until now. He and Alex have been together well over a year, and it was fairly fucking obvious in the beginning the lengths Michael went to to avoid meeting him. Now, though, it’s just lazy practice that has him declining invites to outings where he knows they’ll both be, ducking out of Max’s place when they show up, crossing the street when he catches sight of them, hand in hand. It’s absolutely, deeply pathetic and if he could continue his streak, he would. But it’s Maria’s baby shower and fuck his whole life, because it’s the one occasion he cannot wriggle out of or be pissy about Alex attending at the same time.

Everyone’s laughing in the living room, playing some creepy diaper game. Maria caught him when he arrived, cornered him into a hug and blessed him with eyes far kinder than he deserves, that his presence was enough, that she didn’t expect him to be on his best behavior, that if he could just not start an actual brawl she would be pleased. He got a little misty, for a second, his love for her and his joy for her life overwhelming him in the moment. He forced her into opening his present right then (a dumb, punny onesie and little toy spaceship he welded together himself, bright green and smooth metal, which in retrospect was a dumb and bad gift for a literal baby, but she smiled that lovely, soft smile of hers and gripped his hands tightly, and in that moment he really believed everything would be okay). So he doesn’t feel like a total dick, lurking at the edges of the room, drinking orange flavored sparkling water and checking the door every ten seconds.

Max wins the round, _again_, way too pleased about it as Liz and Rosa roast him alternatively from the couch when the diaper crown is placed on his head. Michael’s distracted taking as many photos of Max looking like a complete idiot as possible, and it’s not until Maria grins in sudden delight, leveraging herself out of her chair with a small struggle, and heading towards the foyer that he feels the tickle of gooseflesh along his forearms, the icy dread in the pit of his stomach.

Alex’s warm voice fills the space behind him, apologies tumbling out and quickly batted away by Maria’s happy voice. Michael sneaks a glance from the corner of his eye, watching Alex set their presents on the table.

They all move back into the living room as the new game starts, this one with both pacifiers and baby powder, somehow. Alex settles in with Liz, smiling, head inclined toward her as she fills him in on the party so far. Michael can feel the absence of Alex’s gaze like a weight. His fiancé--Dominic, all six fucking irritatingly handsome feet of him--sits next to Kyle and a few of Maria’s friends Michael doesn’t know, falling in easily with them all, looking comfortable, casual, like he belongs. Michael supposes he does, now.

He tries not to obsess, he really, he--fuck, who is he kidding? He clocks every twitch, every smile, every careless touch (Dominic brings Alex a cheese and cracker plate and arranges the cheeses so all of Alex’s are on one side, Dominic fixes Alex’s crooked collar, Dominic sits with his hand pressed to Alex’s low back). They move like they’re already married or something similarly disgusting. Accommodating one another, sharing tiny, secret, knowing looks, unconsciously kissing each other--Dominic to Alex’s temple, Alex to Dominic’s jaw. He waits for some sign, a subtle signal that things aren’t well, that they secretly hate each other, that their love is brittle, fake, forced. But it’s not, of course. It’s sweet, actually, and genuine, and watching them makes the deepest parts of Michael ache, almost content, just to watch Alex be doted on and taken care of, by anyone.

He stands on the back porch, watching the sun start to drop below the mountains, the sky a messy watercolor. He can breathe out here, at least.

There’s a creak and dip in the woods. A heavy hand is placed on his shoulder.

“Don’t,” Michael says, tired before even speaking.

“Okay,” Max says, solid and steady as always, the fucking bastard. He just stands there and stares out with Michael, quiet acceptance.

Michael drops his head to the banister, arms bracketing his ears. “Fuck.” Max rubs his hand across Michael’s shoulders, stepping closer to hug his one arm around Michael.

Michael feels eight years old, and, dumbly, like Max’s body will shield him from the whole world and all its hurt. He takes a deep, shuddery breath, and turns into the hug for a moment, before stepping back.

Max’s eyes are so soft Michael wants to punch the stupid, concerned frown right off his face.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, Michael, but,” says Max, voice as sure and steady as the rest of him, like saying it can will it into existence, “you’re gonna be okay.”

“God, I hate you.”

“Love you too, brother.” Max drags him into another hug, this one more familiar, rubbing his hair with his fist and tickling his sides as Michael tries to pull him into a headlock.

“Wow, just when I was worried about having a baby, here I’m reminded I’ve already raised two grown man-children.” Isobel shakes her head, smiling softly, the porch door shutting behind her.

They disentangle themselves, too goofy to be guilty, but giving their best impression all the same.

“To be fair, he started it,” Michael says.

Max rolls his eyes epically. Isobel reaches between them both, draping her arms across their necks. “Hey, guys. I’m gonna be a mom.” And then she actually bursts into tears and Max meets his eyes, mirroring his full blown brotherly panic, as they fret and watch Isobel laugh through her tears. “Oh my God. I’m actually so happy, don’t look like that, I’m just absorbing some of Maria’s emotions and it’s a lot, okay, don’t--God, you boys are so sensitive, just, come here.” She squeezes them in a tight hug and Michael smiles into her shoulder, loving her, loving them, all of them together, more than anything in the world.

-

“Hey,” says Dominic, smiling all dimply and wide-eyed. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

He puts out his hand like a real, upstanding gentleman. Michael eyes it for a second before meeting him in a handshake.

“Michael Guerin.”

Dominic laughs, “Oh, yeah, no I know. I mean, I saw you at Izzy and Maria’s baby shower, just never got the chance to say hi.”

“Mmm,” Michael hums, sipping his ginger ale and looking anywhere but Dominic’s handsome face or fine silk suit. The dark tie makes his eyes pop and Michael really wants to just be swallowed up by the earth, please.

“Look, um,” and Michael realizes that Dominic is… nervous. He was fully braced for on-guard, jealous, worried, threatening, maybe just indifferent. But Dominic is watching him with cautious, concerned eyes, clearing his throat. “I just wanted to say thank you, for being here. I know it’s--it can’t be all that easy, but I know Alex is really glad you came.”

As if compelled by some deep, supernatural force, both their eyes find the man in the crowd immediately. Alex is a vision, there’s no way around it. Dressed in navy suit with a creamy button-down, his hair dark and styled, his face open and happy, surrounded by friends and the family he created for himself. The rehearsal dinner is a casual, comfortable affair; the bistro glowing in candlelight and rich wood paneling. Their venue is set on an actual winery, and every detail is at once rustic and decadent. Everyone mingles, laughing warmly with one another. Even Arturo is enjoying the tamales, which says all that needs to be known about how good the food is.

Michael tears his gaze away last, finally meeting Dominic’s eyes. “It’s no problem.” Dominic smiles at that, looking a little relieved. “Are you, uh, you nervous for tomorrow?”

“Oh no,” Dominic chuckles into his glass a little. “No, man, I’ve… I’ve waited my whole life to marry a man like him.” He says it a little starry eyed, smiling to himself.

Michael watches Alex in the crowd, heart constricting violently in his chest. Alex is the star shining at the center of the room, finally all the attention, all the love focused on him.

Michael regards Dominic again. He was an Army man, retired after ten years to become a fucking history teacher, of all things. He works at the high school Michael and Alex attended, so many years ago. He’s a good man, he’s hot, he’s got a shared history in the military that Michael cannot ever touch or understand. He and Alex are good together, it’s obvious, they love each other. They built something real with each other. There’s nothing grotesquely wrong with him; there is no objection to raise. Michael hates him on principle but he just can’t find it in him to hate him in practice. This is what Michael wanted, what Alex deserves. Someone to love him right, for the rest of his life.

Michael’s staring, he can’t help it. He knows Alex can feel his eyes. He knows Alex can feel every piece of him being traced by Michael. _Till death do us part,_ and he thinks of stardust and the way Alex would brush his fingers over Michael’s mouth and he shoots back his ginger ale with a wince.

“Congratulations,” says Michael, meaning it, and he rattles the ice of his empty glass, excusing himself to the bar. He refills with a Shirley fucking Temple and sits numbly through the toasts, not hearing much of anything.

-

“Look, you don’t have to come to the rehearsal because--well, I get it, I’m not gonna ask that of you okay, Michael? But come to dinner. It’s gonna be everyone I love in one room and--and if you’re not there I--”

“Yeah,” Michael says, helpless and standing behind the high school, staring at a boy with too much eyeliner not enough self-preservation, too much heart and nowhere to put it. He touches Alex’s wrist, the curve of his thumb. “Of course I’ll come.”

-

“Fuck, Michael--God--”

Michael kisses him deeper, catching all the half-mumbled, filthy things falling from Alex’s mouth. “Yeah, c’mon, I got you baby, I got you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Alex gasps, clutching Michael’s back, raking his nails across the skin. Michael just picks up the pace, until Alex is head-thrown-back, eyes-in-the-back-of-his-skull, moaning. God, he loves this--loves him. “Me too, me too--fuck, me too.”

Michael drops his head to Alex’s shoulder, slick with sweat the both of them, and holds onto him.

-

“Hey,” Alex says, soft, out of breath just a little.

Michael plays with the keys in his hand, looking hard at the door handle of his truck.

“You left without saying goodbye,” Alex says, slowing from his jog out into the parking lot, which is just a dirt lot with cones to file off different areas. Michael almost, _almost_ laughs at the enormous fucking irony of it all.

He cocks his head to drink in Alex. His tie is gone, shirt unbuttoned to his collarbone. His hair is mussed from dancing, tips of his cheeks pink despite the chill outside. He’s a little glassy-eyed, loose-limbed. He’s finally everything Michael’s always wanted to be able to give him and it stings, a hundred wasps on his heart at once.

“Yeah. I got an early morning, y’know, so do you.”

Alex just laughs, coming closer still. “I’m glad you came.” Michael can’t answer that. Michael can’t be here anymore. “_Hello_. Guerin, you in there?”

“Alex, what do you want?”

“Hey, come on.”

“No, you wake up. I’m here. I came, I ate the fucking humble pie, I smiled, I didn’t cause a fucking scene, I was your good little ex in the corner, I’m your loyal fucking dog lying down and playing dead, you don’t--you can’t come running after me at your own fucking rehearsal dinner while I--while I--” Michael turns and slams his fist into the hull of his truck, the whole vehicle jumping a couple feet at the force of his powers.

“Michael.” Alex’s voice hurts too much to even imagine what his face is doing. “Jesus Christ, how can you say that? You’re my friend--you’re my--” _Family._ The echo of that moment rings between them without having to say it. “I wanted you here because I love you, because I wanted to share at least a part of this whole thing with you, because I know you won’t be there tomorrow. But God, Michael _you_\--" And there it is, the familiar, adrenaline inducing anger that always sparks between them. God, it’s been a long time. They’ve been so careful, so delicate, tiptoeing past every trigger but their entire relationship has always been volcano, one eruption after another, the cooling off, the red-hot magma of touching, and the repetition. Alex’s voice ticks up, irritated for the first time. “You can’t act like this, now. Like you’re not the one who ended things.”

_Fuck_. Alex’s voice breaks, just a barely, on those last few words. And Michael knows he’s been drinking, that his defenses are down, that he’d never let Michael hear that kind of vulnerability normally but--

He looks. Alex is glowing with moonlight on his face, the orange glimmer of the party a halo around his hair and silhouette. The scar on his forehead, the flutter of his lashes, the part of his lips--it twists up everything inside Michael in one, familiar, addictive breath.

“Why, Manes?” He feels sick. He’s gonna be sick--his hands are shaking. He closes them to fists, and the ground beneath his feet cracks. “Because if I didn’t, it’d be our party in there? It’d be my tuxedo hanging in your fucking closet? Because we would have made it, this time, unlike every other time when it blew up in our fucking faces? Because I didn’t do both of us the biggest favor on the planet and freed you to live a real goddamned life?”

“Are you…” Alex might actually punch him, his face all thunder. “You absolute bastard.” The words fall out of him, and they keep closing in on one another, oblivious and helpless to it. “_That’s_ why you broke up with me? Because you--because you think we’re cursed or some bullshit? Because you think you’re not good enough for me?” Michael flinches. The fight leaves Alex on an exhale. “Michael…”

“Tell me I’m wrong, tell me you still get stress ulcers being with Mr. Perfect.” Michael’s an alien, but his petty twist at the mention of Alex’s groom-to-be is classically human.

“You complete fucking moron,” says Alex.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

They’re nose to nose. Michael can feel Alex’s heartbeat, his breath, his conflict. He knows he’s the moon to Alex’s tide, the same way Alex is his sun. He knows he could take, he knows he could have Alex, right now, not a hundred feet away from his betrothed and all their friends and family. Alex smells like champagne, the closest Michael’s had to a drink in a year, because only once he’s lost the best, most important part of his life does he figure out how to take care of himself. Sweet breath, alcohol and Alex, the warmth of him on the cold, black night, every star in New Mexico shining down in Alex’s eyes--he could have Alex any way he wanted, right here, right now.

-

Michael’s a man of science, and the facts are these:

He hurts Alex. He loves Alex. Alex loves him. Alex has hurt him.

Alex deserves every nebula and galaxy and wonder the universe has to offer.

Michael has one broken spaceship and a history of disappointing people.

It’s not even a question, really.

-

“You’re wrong.”

Michael steps back. “Go back to your party, Alex.”

Alex grabs him by the lapels and slams him into the side of his truck.

“Cosmic. That’s what you said. You and I. Tell me you’ll ever love anybody like you love me. Like I love you. Tell me the only thing keeping us apart isn’t your stupid, self-sacrificial bullshit. Tell me _I’m_ wrong.”

Michael forgot, just how quickly, how instantaneously he becomes putty when Alex asks for something.

“Alex--”

Alex presses their foreheads together. Their mouths brush, not kissing, but touching, sharing hot, wet breaths.

“Don’t give up. Not if this--if you still--fuck me, Michael, don’t give up now. If there’s a chance.”

-

After they broke up and before Alex met Dominic, they would meet up for weekly sci-fi marathons at Alex’s. Michael liked classic BSG and Alex wanted to work through Deep Space Nine so they alternated weeks.

It was hours of laughing together. Alex pausing shows to go off on character tangents. Cheetos and donuts became homemade fries and baked ziti. Michael slept on the couch if they stayed up too late for him to want to drive home, and Alex would talk about random shit with him from the open door of his bedroom, weird things, dreams they had, high school memories they teased out of one another, things they’d never shared with each other before. Michael had thought, then: this is what it should be, between them. Simple and easy, like it always was in the beginning, without the explosive arguments, the biting comments, the little piles of hurt. They were so good at getting under each other’s skin, but they were also so good at healing it. For a long stretch of time, they only did the latter, and Michael thought, _maybe_. Maybe he was wrong, maybe they could make it right, this time, start from that place Alex had asked for, what felt like so long ago. They knew each other, truly and deeply, and Michael only loved Alex more and more. Maybe this tenderness was a place to start, a place where something could grow, could last.

And then, one night, in the dark, Alex started up hesitantly talking about this guy he went on a date with, his voice all apprehension. And Michael swallowed all that hope and said, “Tell me about it, Manes.” And that was that.

-

He’s not going to be the one to take away something good from Alex, not again.

“I’m sorry,” Michael whispers.

Alex’s fingers relax. He pulls back, meeting Michael dead in the eye. The devastation is even worse than the last time, and Michael sucks in a painful breath.

Alex’s face melts of anything familiar, face blank, shoulders setting soldierlike. He nods once, turns, and walks away.

-

“You know,” Rosa says, dropping criss-cross-applesauce beside him. “I don’t get you.”

“You and me both, sister.” Her dress is floral and white, with combat boots. “Don’t you have a wedding to be at?”

“Ceremony doesn’t start for hours.” She nudges him with her shoulder. “Whole entire _hours_ if, say, someone wanted to interrupt the proceedings.”

“Do I even know you,” asks Michael, dryly.

“Listen dickwad, Alex was my friend in high school, which was like, only a few years ago.” And wasn’t it still so fucking strange, that this girl, who was Liz’s cool older sister, now seemed like an infant compared to how old Michael felt these days. “And I know what’s up. So. You gonna,” she makes a shooing motion with her hands, “go break up that wedding and get your man or?”

“Jesus, Ortecho, you get resurrected without your brain or?”

Rosa laughs. He’s not sure how she even got into the Wild Pony, but he was perfectly happy staring into his glass of seltzer in an empty booth all by himself, thank you very much.

“Listen. I’m not really all for being the sage young zombie girl or whatever, but trust me when I say I know better than anybody the value of a second chance. You have that. Don’t waste it because you’re a scared little bitch-baby.” She taps her purple nails on the table, and leaves.

-

Michael’s not going to stop the wedding, _obviously_. But. _But._

Okay, fuck, he’s not going to stop a whole entire wedding, that is insane. That is batshit fucking ridiculous. He drums his fingers on the wheel of his truck as he speeds. He’s not going to stop anything it’s just--damn those Ortecho’s and their ability to see things so clearly, to speak the truth in an annoying, impossible-to-ignore way. He needs to see Alex. After everything they’ve been through, he can’t have those words from the previous night be the last ones they say to each other before a day like today.

It’s a pain in the fucking ass to find parking. Eventually Michael just throws the truck into park in a line of cars and jump out, running up towards the huge, arched wooden doors. Guests are milling about. Soft, baby pink flowers and white linen everywhere. Michael tries not to look too conspicuous as he runs down different hallways, until--

“Um,” he says, trying to think of a rational reason for being here.

Kyle and Liz stare at him. Liz is adjusting the flower in his suit pocket. Their eyes are huge.

Liz reacts first, mouth softening a little. “He’s in there.” She points to the door at the end of the hall.

“Thanks.”

Kyle grabs Michael’s forearm as he moves to pass, holding on until they’re eye to eye. “If you… ah, jeez. Just don’t fuck it up, man. And I better be Alex’s best man again, because I did not create that binder for nothing.”

Michael feels giddy, suddenly, buoyed by a lightness he cannot begin to explain. He tumbles head first down the hall until he’s at the door, and then he’s inside, and then--

Alex. His first, his only thought: Alex.

Gorgeous Alex. The tuxedo was made for him, his beauty all sleek angles and fine fabric. Alex, who is tearing the bowtie off his neck like it’s strangling him. The noise of Michael’s entrance stops him, he turns.

Everything stretches between them, so quiet. Michael opens his mouth to say: I love you, get married today, be happy, I’ll never stop being here, I’ll never stop looking, I love you, I love you, I love you.

Instead: “Damn, Manes. You clean up pretty well.”

And in two steps they’re touching, in three: they kiss electric. Hands framing one another’s face, cradling each other.

“You fucking dramatic asshole. Had to wait until my wedding day.” Alex chokes on a laugh or a sob or both, pressing his face into the crook of Michael’s neck. Michael holds him tightly.

“I don’t know if it’ll be different, if I--I just want you to be happy, Alex, that’s all I want, I--”

“Shut the fuck up, for once, Michael,” says Alex, and he kisses him, smiling and elated and completely, absolutely batshit in love.

-

They’re lying in the back of Michael’s truck, curled up toward each other.

“I hope you won the lottery since the last time I saw you,” says Alex, tracing the shape of Michael’s mouth with his thumb. “Because I am not getting my deposit back on most of this.”

“Mmm, I don’t know. This resort suite is _really_ nice, seems worth it.”

“God. We’re the world’s biggest dicks.” Michael opens his mouth, which Alex promptly covers with his hand. “Don’t say it.”

Michael chuckles until Alex moves his palm away. “Seriously, what was that? Thousand thread count or something? You know how to treat a man.” Alex flinches, a little, frowning. Michael kisses it away. “Hey. It’s okay.”

“I know.” Alex sighs. “That’s what I feel so bad about… how _not_ bad I feel. I’m just. I’m too happy, with you, to feel as bad as I should.”

Michael’s chest is warm and bubbly at hearing that, and he finds he can’t feel bad about it either. “You shouldn’t. You should feel good. He took it pretty well, all things considered.” He really had not. There had been a lot of ugly tears and hugging, but no threats of murder, which was a win for Michael, frankly. “And now you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life.”

Alex huffs a tiny laugh. “Oh really?”

“Yeah? Can you imagine going through all this just to not end up with me for good? God, that would suck. Nope, sorry, can’t get rid of me now. Just gonna have to marry me or something.”

“God--you--” Alex kisses him, hot, greedy, wondrous kisses. “Are the most--irritating--thick-headed--annoying--”

“I love you too.” Michael gasps, kissing down Alex’s neck.

“Yes, obviously.” Alex pets his hair, eyes going soft and liquid. “I love you. It’s always you. It’ll always be you.”

Michael absorbs this, really takes it in. “Same. Alex, you… you are everything. I’m gonna die making you happy.” He swears it, running his fingers through Alex’s precious hair, holding his perfect, stubborn head in his hands and kissing every inch of it.

“Well, no rush on that. I plan on making your groveling last a really, really long time.”

Michael laughs, and there, in the truck, under the stars, with all the light the world has to offer in his hands, he lets the quiet of their heartbeats speak for itself.

**Author's Note:**

> suns out guns out, let’s have a redux for us motherfuckers who are putting on their clown makeup to make believe that, this time, the queer ship will get a happy fucking ending [air horns]  
puhlease tell me all your aching tender malex headcanons on [tumblr](http://katsofmeer.tumblr.com/)


End file.
